


Warrior's Lullaby

by TheOtakuWithHazelEyes



Series: Ozma and Family [4]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Abuse, Allusions to The Promised Neverland, Angst, F/M, Family Fluff, Gen, Ozma is a good dad, adorable children, and it's not graphic, but only chapter 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-21 11:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20692493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOtakuWithHazelEyes/pseuds/TheOtakuWithHazelEyes
Summary: Ozma's existence is one of inconstancy and pain- there's not much he can give his children that will outlast him, so he gives them this.(Or, Ozma learns a lullaby and sings to his children across his lifetimes.)





	1. Lurline the Mother

**Author's Note:**

> Surprisingly, the first inspiration for this came from The Promised Neverland. I wrote the lyrics for the lullaby used in this, but the words are set to the tune of Isabella's Lullaby. 
> 
> The second inspiration came from the confirmation that Silver Eyed Warriors are descendants of Ozma's incarnations and their normal human spouses. Which I totally called btw. 
> 
> The entire piece is finished, but I will be uploading it in shorter parts over the next few days. Do enjoy!

** _Krak-koom!_ **

The cottage’s small window lights up briefly with lightning, and the sharp crack of thunder follows after. The moment she hears it, Lurline knows to expect the rapid pads of bare feet and sudden slam of a door being whipped open.

** _Slam!_ **

“_Mama_!”

She looks up from her needlework just in time to see her five-year-old son practically _ hurl _himself across the room, to her rocking chair, and bury his face in her skirts. He is shaking terribly, and his fearful sobs are muffled by the cloth. She sets aside her embroidery hoop and lifts him into her lap.

“Oh, Ozma,” she sighs. The boy presses his face into her shoulder as she begins to rock back and forth. “What could ever be the matter, dearest?”

“S-Scary,” her son mumbles. “It’s scary outside. It s-sounds like monsters.”

“The only monsters we have to worry about are Grimm, and even they wouldn’t be out in this weather,” Lurline chuckles. She combs her fingers through his dark hair. “Ozma, it’s merely thunder. It can't hurt you here.”

Ozma whimpers, not finding this fact at all comforting. Lurline sighs again-- normally she would disperse the storm herself, but the crops need the rain. Instead, she stands and carries Ozma over to the cottage’s small couch. A flick of her free hand sends a spark to the fireplace, and immediately it fills with bright, crackling flames. 

“There, there,” she coos. She pulls Ozma close to her side and drapes a thick quilt over the pair. “I’m so sorry the thunder woke you, dearest. I know it seems scary, but I promise it won’t be that way forever.”

Ozma sniffles and finally looks up. “It w-won’t?”

“It won’t. One day you’ll be big and strong, and you’ll find that many things aren’t as scary as they appear. I should know, I was afraid of many things when I was your age-- including thunder.”

“_ You _ were afraid?” Ozma gasps, as though the thought is unheard of. “Mama’s not afraid of anything! You zapped that mean doggy, ‘member?”

She does remember (last week, a small Grimm crossed their path while they were out on a walk, but a small bolt of magic ended it swiftly), but before she can reply there is another crack of thunder. Ozma yelps and dives under the quilt. Lurline laughs and gently pulls him back to the surface. He trembles at first, but stills when she lifts his chin so he’ll meet her eyes.

“I’m glad you think so highly of me, but that kind of courage came with time. It will come to you as well, but until then, allow me to do for you what my mother did for me when I was afraid.”

Ozma looks puzzled, but nods seriously. This makes Lurline laugh again before she once again runs her fingers through her son’s soft, dark locks. When his eyes begin to droop, she starts to sing.

_ Now it’s time to rest your head, _

_ Into dreams you’ll fall. _

_ And when the new day comes, the dawn will shine, _

_ Painting the sky with shades of gold and red. _

-

_ Shut your eyes, don’t fear the night. _

_ Grimm can't reach you here. _

_ You are safe here in my embrace. _

_ So now dream of a world filled with peace and light. _

-

_ Oh my dear child, I love you with all of my soul, _

_ As seasons pass, this will always hold true. _

_ Though my dear child, the world can be cruel and unfair, _

_ The people you love will keep you whole. _

-

_ Oh my dear child, I love you and one day you’ll see, _

_ When you hold your child, like I hold you to me, _

_ That anger and fear can’t survive in the light, _

_ So I sing... so you will... always remember... _

As Lurline finishes the last verse, she glances down at her son. He is fast asleep, small snores escaping his lips. She smiles. 

“Good night, my Little Warrior.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ozma's mother's name comes from (as far I know) the name of Princess Ozma's mother in L. Frank Baum's books.


	2. Ozma the False God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The False God accidentally wakes his children late at night. He has just the thing to soothe them.

“Father, is everything alright?”

Ozma jolts upward. He didn’t even hear Eirwen come into his study. He didn’t see either because he’d had his face buried in his hands. He gets up from behind his desk and joins her by the door, hoping his eyes aren’t as puffy as they were before. 

“Eirwen, what are you doing up?” he asks, kneeling to her level. “It’s past your bedtime, Snowflake.” 

Eirwen fidgets for a moment, which is completely unlike her. Without looking her father in the eyes, she replies, “I heard you and Mother yelling.”

Ozma stealthily tugs his sleeve down lower over his wrist. He curses his and Salem’s inability to be discreet-- one would think they would be better at it, given their status as false gods.

He embraces his eldest daughter. “I’m so sorry, Eirwen. We didn’t mean to wake you. Your mother and I were... just having a discussion.”

Eirwen pulls away and gives him a skeptical look. “It was a pretty loud discussion.”

Ozma tries not to wince. “Yes, yes it was. Did we wake anyone else?”

“Dahlia and Aurelia are awake, but I don't think they know what’s going on.” She bites her lip. “... Kore’s awake too, and she won’t stop crying.”

He gives her a wane smile. “Well, that won’t do. Come along.”

He stands and takes Eirwen by her little hand. Together they leave his study and go to the large chamber the girls shared as their bedroom. He pushes the door open to reveal the twins standing next to Kore’s crib, the one-year-old infant wailing her little lungs out.

“Don’t cry, baby. Don’t cry!” Aurelia whispers loudly.

“Maybe we should wake Mimi,” Dahlia suggests.

Getting the girls’ nanny to handle this is probably the more sensible option, especially considering the trying night he’s having, but Ozma instead clears his throat to get the twins’ attention. They both freeze then simultaneously turn their heads toward the doorway. The sight makes Ozma chuckle. 

“I got Father. He was still awake,” Eirwen announces.

Aurelia and Dahlia step away from the crib as their father approaches, upon which he reaches down and lifts little Kore into his arms.

“Shhh, it’s alright, Flower Bud,” he says, rubbing her back. “Papa’s here.” 

Kore’s cries soften but do not cease altogether. She still whimpers as Ozma carries her over to the nearest bed and sits down. The rest of the girls follow after him and stand around his legs, looking up at him expectantly. 

... Ozma, admittedly, does not have much experience with his daughters waking in the middle of the night. In the past, their needs were met either by their nanny or by Salem, the latter refusing any offers of aid made by her husband as it was a “mother’s duty.” He has no idea what his little ones expect of him at this moment. He just stares back and keeps trying to soothe the baby. 

“Father,” Eirwen speaks up. “Sometimes when the twins or Kore wake up this late, Mimi or Mother tuck us in and sing for us.” 

“Yeah, sing! Sing, Papa!” Dahlia cheers. 

Aurelia nods enthusiastically in agreement. 

“I, ah, appreciate the encouragement, my dears,” he says, rocking Kore. “But Papa doesn’t really know any songs to--”

Wait. 

That's not entirely true. He does know a song. By the Brothers, it’s been centuries. Literally centuries since he even thought of the song, let alone heard it, and yet he remembers every word as clear as day. 

“Actually,” he says. “I do know one.”

The girls perk up. 

“It’s a lullaby my mother used to sing to me,” he explains. “Would you like to hear it?”

“Papa’s mama?” Aurelia asks. “Where is she?”

Ozma smiles sadly. “Gone, I’m afraid. She passed away many years before you were born.” Gone long before the Younger eradicated the First Humans. “But I think she would like me to sing her song for all of you.”

“I wanna hear Papa’s mama’s song!” Dahlia cheers. 

“We would love to hear it, Father,” Eirwen agrees.

“All right. But bear with me, I may be a little rusty.”

Ozma clears his throat, readjusts Kore’s position in his arms, and begins to sing.

_ “Now it’s time to rest your head, _

_ Into dreams you’ll fall...” _

* * *

He slowly closes the bedroom door, sparing one last glance as his daughters’ sleeping forms. It is no wonder his mother used that song ceaselessly when he was small-- it worked mind-blowingly well. Maybe the lullaby is a form of magic in it's own right. 

He sighs tiredly and starts to make what feels like a long trek back to his study. He only manages to turn a corner before he runs into Salem. They narrowly avoid knocking into one another, and for a few moments just stare at each other awkwardly.

“... Darling?” he prompts cautiously.

With a blank expression, Salem reaches out, takes his hand, and pushes back his shirt sleeve. The burn-like bruise on his wrist stands out vividly even against his dark skin. 

Her face crumples. Tears drip from the corners of her ruby eyes. “I’m sorry...”

He wants to throw the apology back in her face. He wants to ask her how many more apologies he’s supposed to accept before “accidents” like this stop happening. He wants to... wants to...

What he wants doesn't matter right now. Not when she looks like this, and not when he’s just gotten his children back to sleep. He squeezes Salem’s hand and pulls her in for a hug. She sobs silently into his chest.

“Shhh,” he hushes, just like he’d done with Kore. “It’s alright. We’ll be alright.”

They have to be. 

That's what he wants most of all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a little shout-out to my friend and fellow author NotWeird in this chapter. She's the only one who'll recognize the context, so here's to you buddy :)
> 
> And a reminder-
> 
> Eirwen- Blue dress daughter.
> 
> Dahlia- Pink dress daughter.
> 
> Aurelia- orange dress daughter.
> 
> Kore- green dress daughter.


	3. Omar the Inventor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inventor has a brief discussion with his wife on fatherhood and songs.

“... _ anger and fear can’t survive in the light, _

_ So I sing... so you will... always-” _

“You’ll have to teach me that.”

Omar, to his credit, does not startle too much from where he sits on the little bed. He turns away from his sleeping son and daughter to see Aapti standing in the doorway, light creeping into the dark room.

“You sing it to them every time,” his wife continues, walking over to him. “It works better than anything I’ve ever sung to them. Who did you learn it from?”

“My mother,” he replies softly, turning back to the children. He runs a hand through his son’s messy curls. “Well, not _ my _ mother but... my mother.”

Aapti smiles and hugs him around his broad shoulders. “I understand. It’s a pretty song, even if it's a little... melancholy, I guess is a word.” 

“Hmm. I guess it is,” Omar agrees. He purses his lips. “I feel like this song is one of the few things I can really give my children, you know? Everything about me seems so... immaterial at times. I won’t always be here, and I’m definitely not going to be the same guy in the end.”

“You give them plenty by being a good dad. Which you are.”

“Am I?”

“_Yes,_” Aapti stresses. She takes him by the hands and pulls him to his feet. “I don’t know what’s happened in the past, but right here, right now? You _ are _ a good dad. You have to be, otherwise Ashi wouldn't have made you that ‘world’s greatest dad’ award we have hanging in the hall.”

Omar chuckles at that, but glances away from her gaze. “I can’t promise it’ll last beyond right here, right now.”

Not until he completes his mission. Not until _ she _ is finally destroyed, as she should have been centuries ago. 

“Maybe not,” his wife agrees. She takes his chin and makes him meet her eyes. “But maybe an old, sad lullaby can. I think as long as you’re singing to your children, it proves this part of you can last. You won’t always be the same person, but at least you and your children will always have that no matter who you are.”

Omar finally smiles. He pecks Aapti on the lips, only to have her catch him and drag the kiss out longer. When they finally part, she grins at him while he hugs her. She’s so small compared to him that he almost engulfs her. 

“Thanks, hun,” he says. “How do you always know what to say?”

“I’m the smart one of the three of us.”

“Hey, I’m plenty smart! I have a workshop and everything.”

“I’m sorry, _who _originally had the idea for the cane? _ And _ named it?”

“... That’s fair.” 

Omar and Aapti lean forward to kiss again when they hear giggling. They simultaneously turn their heads to see their son, Aadav, sitting up in bed, his silver eyes twinkling with mirth. 

“_Eeeeeew _!” Aadav laughs quietly. “You guys can’t be kissy in here!”

The two parents share a glance. It doesn’t appear he heard too much of their conversation, and his sister, Ashi, is still sleeping soundly. 

“Can’t be kissy?” Aapti repeats. “That sounds like a challenge to me. C’mere!”

Aapti plops down at Aadav’s side and immediately pulls him close to pepper his face in sloppy kisses. The whole time Aadav is laughing and trying to push his mother away, but to no avail. Finally, his sister blinks her eyes blearily and sits up, turning to Omar.

“Wh’s goin’ on?” Ashi asks with a yawn.

“Late night silliness,” Omar replies. “We didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay.” She pauses. “Can you sing the song again?”

“Sure, sweetie.” 

He sings it three more times before the night is through, and Aapti joins him for the third rendition. 

It's beautiful. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little shorter than the previous ones, but it did the job. 
> 
> In case it's not obvious, this is the incarnation who forged Ozpin's cane. The name I gave him, Omar, means "long lived" in Hebrew. The wife's name, Aapti, can mean "fulfillment" while the daughter's name, Ashi, can have several meanings like "night," "smile," or "beauty." The son's name, Aadav, can mean "bright and brilliant sun."


	4. Ozymandias the King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes, and he is forced to make a difficult decision. The King is just one of many incarnations to suffer for it, among others.

_ Oh my dear child, I love you with all of my soul, _

Years pass. Decades, centuries, millennia. Not every lifetime has children, but those that do are cherished. 

His children, all silver-eyed. He sings to every one of them. 

And while he rarely lives to see it, his children remember their lullaby and sing it to their children in turn. He is always proud. 

_ As seasons pass, this will always hold true. _

Years pass. Decades, centuries, millennia. A legend is born-- tales of warriors who can slay Grimm with a single look. 

Warriors, all silver-eyed. It doesn’t take him long to put two and two together. 

It doesn’t take Salem long either. The lands of Remnant run red with the blood of his children, and his heart breaks anew. 

_ Though my dear child, the world can be cruel and unfair, _

Years pass. Decades, centuries, millennia. He does his best to protect those who remain. If he fails in that, he makes sure they can protect themselves. 

His descendants are silver-eyed. They are a threat and insult Salem will never ignore. 

A day comes where his heart, long shattered and aching, finally accepts a certain truth. Where he seeks comfort, he will only find pain. Salem will never die, and will never stop hurting his children. 

_ The people you love will keep you whole. _

Years pass. Decades, centuries, millennia.

No more children-- no more silver eyes. No more lullabies.

He will always love them, but he has nothing left to give them. It isn't alright anymore, and never will be again.

* * *

“Sire?”

King Ozymandias of Vale exhales through his nose, turning away from the window. “Yes?”

Adviser Winchester clears his throat. “Sire, the advising council sent me here to get your decision on last week’s... issue?”

The king narrows his eyes. “I gave them my decision.”

“Your majesty, if I may be so bold, this is not something that can be treated so rashly! Relations with the Mistrali settlers break down more every day. If this does lead to conflict, then your bloodline must be secure. Should the problems lay with Queen Gwendolyn, there are other noblewomen who would gladly become your-”

“Get out.”

Winchester wilts. “Sire-”

“_Get out _!” the king roars. 

Winchester bolts from the study, slamming the door behind him. Ozymandias massages the bridge of his nose, exhausted, and turns back toward the window. The view of the garden from his study, vibrant blossoms against verdant foliage, is splendid but it is not what he focuses on. No, he focuses on the sight of his wife, sitting next to the garden’s large pond.

Queen Gwendolyn lounges on the edge, tossing oats to the ducks. She pauses, and looks directly up at her husband. Even at this distance, they meet each other’s eyes.

She rests her hand on her abdomen and her gaze turns pleading. 

It takes all of the king’s willpower to not react. 

Gwendolyn’s eyes become downcast, and she turns away. Her shoulders visibly shake, far away as she is. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers and finally leaves the window. 

He knows what she wants, what everyone seems to want. If he’s being perfectly honest with himself, he wants it too. It's been so long since he’s sung his lullaby, but he can’t do it. He’s not brave enough, or strong enough. He has nothing left to give. 

“No more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ozymandias is the name of a legendary king in a pair of sonnets by English Romantic poet Percy Bysshe Shelley. Gwendolyn is a Welsh name meaning "fair-browed." I see them as allusions to King Arthur and Queen Guinevere. 
> 
> In my vast list of story ideas that I may or may not get to, there is an AU where despite his vow, the King and Queen do end up having a daughter (on accident) with her own Arthurian allusion. Maybe I'll write a long one-shot for it.


	5. Ozpin the Headmaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Headmaster meets someone he never expected to after so long, and is content.

Ozpin yawns, following the action with a long drink from his mug. Hot chocolate does nothing for his wakefulness, but it does wonders for his temperament. 

The beginning of the school year is always a hectic time, especially for the headmaster. Student applications need to be vetted and approved, the Emerald Forest must be purged of anything a first year student cannot obliterate, teams must be formed, team names need to be devised...

Ginger forced Ozpin to take a break after the team names started to take the shape of swear words. 

“I handled half the applications, I can round off the names,” his assistant headmistress had claimed. “Go clear your head before the naming ceremony. Gods forbid you embarrass this institution." 

He certainly doesn't want that, and she _ had _ been nice enough to help him with the influx of applications this year, so he complied. Besides, the naming ceremony is one of his favorite parts of the year and he wants to be as aware as possible. 

This year’s crop of students would prove to be very interesting-- several names already stand out to him from initiation. Gretchen Rainart had done exceptionally well, as had a lanky young man named Bartholomew Oobleck. Taiyang Xiao Long was a spitfire to be reckoned with, and perhaps would be a good influence on his stand-offish partner, Raven Branwen. 

Ms. Branwen’s brother, Qrow, is equally abysmal in attitude, but his carries an almost familiar sorrow. Ozpin plans to keep an eye on him, but hopes his partner- an exceptionally skilled (and patient) young woman named Summer Rose- will soften his rough edges. 

Ms. Rose is an odd one, though Ozpin has hardly any room to speak. Talented, but seems to detest the spotlight. She also has an odd quirk when she continuously allows her hood and bangs fall in front of her eyes. She’d come highly recommended by Signal’s headmaster, though he doesn’t recall actually seeing her application, 

_ It must have been one of the ones Ginger handled _, he thinks, sipping his drink and entering Beacon’s central courtyard. The Huntsmen Memorial Statue is as imposing a sight as ever. 

He frowns. _ I should have looked at it. It's not often a student has a headmaster speak so highly of them. Perhaps I can catch Ms. Rose at tonight’s post-initiation party. _

As he approaches the statue, in the corner of his eye he sees a girl in a white cloak sitting at the base of a Forever Fall tree, hunched over a large book. There isn’t a single other soul in the area, making her stick out more than she would have normally. 

_ Oh. That’s a convenient, _ he thinks as he walks closer to the tree. _ But what is she doing out here? Any students who’ve finished initiation should be waiting in the _\- 

“_... Shut your eyes, don’t fear the night. _

_ Grimm can't reach you here.” _

It feels as though someone has poured liquid nitrogen down his spine when he hears Ms. Rose's soft, lilting voice. He doesn't freeze himself, though; he continues to walk, with every step growing more and more unsteady even with his cane. 

It’s not possible. It’s just completely, utterly, _not possible._

Every step he takes and every word he hears, he cannot prevent his expression from devolving into pure shock. 

“_You are safe here in my embrace. _

_ So now dream of a world filled with peace and-” _

“Ms. Rose.”

Ms. Rose stops singing. Her body tenses up, and she does not look up from her book. 

“Where-” He swallows thickly. “Where did you hear that song?” 

Ms. Rose doesn’t do or say anything for a few seconds, then slowly lifts her head. As she does, her bangs fall to the side of her face.

Ozpin drops his mug. It shatters on the concrete. 

“My dad,” Ms. Rose says, blinking her silver eyes in palpable confusion. “He used to sing it to me when I was little.” 

Ozpin just stares at her. He’s sure his expression is something to behold, because with each passing moment Ms. Rose looks more and more uncomfortable. 

“I just kind of miss him right now, is all,” she continues nervously. “I’m about to start my huntress journey, he’s not here to see it, I just wanted to feel a little closer to him, and oh gods why am I telling my headmaster this-”

“Ms. Rose,” he interrupts. He takes a deep breath and does his best to school his expression into something more presentable. “You have silver eyes.”

She goes rigid and eyes him warily. “Yes, I do. Is something wrong with that, Professor?” 

"No,” he replies. He removes his glasses and rubs his tear ducts. “It’s just... it’s been a very long time since I’ve seen anyone with eyes like yours. You surprised me.”

“Oh. Sorry?” 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. And you say your father sang you that song?”

“Um, yeah! It was apparently in his family for generations, passed down from parent to parent,” Ms. Rose says, relaxing slightly. She smiles wanly. “He died when I was still small, and I don’t remember how the whole thing goes-- only the first three verses. Mom tried her best, but it was always our special song so she didn’t know it.” 

Rose. He doesn’t remember the family name Rose, but it could have changed at any time over the years. He was once a man named Oliver Rhodes, perhaps his family changed it to Rose during the Great War. Many families did that to make their names more colorful. 

“If you don’t mind me asking,” she speaks up. “How do _ you _ know it, sir? I always thought my family were the only ones.”

“Ah, yes,” Ozpin places his glasses back on his face and smiles at her. “Well, Ms. Rose, that song of your father’s is an old one. _ Very _ old. And it was only ever sung to a specific group of people, so I’m amazed there’s _ anyone _ who still knows of it. It’s such a sad-sounding melody as well.”

“A bit,” Ms. Rose agrees. “But it sounds hopeful too, in a way.” 

He chuckles. “Yes, I suppose it does.”

“Do... do you know the rest of the words?”

“I do. Would you like me to teach them to you? We still have a bit of time before the naming ceremony.” 

If Ms. Rose finds any of this strange or sudden, she doesn’t show it. She simply smiles in earnest and pats the spot on the ground next to her. “I’d like that. Thank you, sir.” 

“Don’t thank me yet,” he says, lowering himself to the ground. “I’m a little rusty, so I can’t guarantee this will be a good performance.”

“Can’t be worse than me.”

“Hush, you were lovely. Now, I believe you said the last verse was missing. Ready?”

Ms. Rose nods enthusiastically. 

Ozpin nods once, opens his mouth, and starts to sing. 

_ “Oh my dear child, I love you and one day you’ll see, _

_ When you hold your child, like I hold you to me, _

_ That anger and fear can’t survive in the light, _

_ So I sing... so you will... always remember..."_

* * *

He is- thousands of times over- not the man he once was. He’s not as strong and not as brave. Pain is inevitable, and always will be. Yet in that moment, Ozpin genuinely believes everything will be alright. 

That may change. He knows it will-- the future is a scary thing. 

But right then and there, he sings his mother’s lullaby again. He has something to give.

That’s enough.

* * *

** _._ **

** _._ **

** _._ **

**_FIN._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter alludes the most to The Promised Neverland, specifically the scene where Isabella learns the sad truth about Ray. 
> 
> You cannot convince me Ozpin wasn't close to Summer Rose, and wasn't devastated from her death. While he's friendly and supportive to Ruby, it does carry an air of distance. Wonder why. 
> 
> Also, Glynda's predecessor, Ginger (Glynda herself is only a third year student in this scenario) is also a based on an L. Frank Baum character. She's based on General Jinjur, the leader of an all-female army who was a pain in the neck of the Scarecrow before later switching sides and swearing to loyalty to Princess Ozma. (She's one of Qrow's least favorite people during his time at Beacon, as she's the one who gives him the most detention.)
> 
> Anyway, that's the end! I hope everyone enjoyed my story!

**Author's Note:**

> Ozma's mother's name comes from (as far I know) the name of Princess Ozma's mother in L. Frank Baum's books.


End file.
